


Don't Go

by Emrhys



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Gen, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emrhys/pseuds/Emrhys
Summary: It's Noctis' 18th birthday and he managed to:1. Sneak in a nap with Gladio2. Use the right fork during dinner3. Not throw up during his speech4. Get attacked in the elevator
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 30
Kudos: 202





	1. Birthday

Citadel officials gathered one after the other at the Caelum Via Hotel off the district for the celebration. His Highness, Prince Noctis, was turning 18 and His Majesty, King Regis, teased a big surprise for his son. The royal family always invited the Citadel dignitaries, Counselpeople and notable staff - a gesture of good-will and showboating. Noctis knew this yet he extended personal invitations to those who worked around him on a day-to-day basis including his chamberlain, the kitchen staff, and the garden caretakers. 

No one outside the Citadel was able to attend, and they had booked out the entire hotel for a few days for attendees to stay with their plus ones. It was a celebration for Noctis as much as it was-- as his best friend, Prompto, joked-- a company party of sorts. But it wasn’t quite the vacation as it seemed. Not to Noctis anyway. He smiled and bowed his head slightly as he passed people in the halls, hating every minute of it. Playing the part of Prince was his job, though he much rather devour large pizzas at the arcade with his friends for his birthday. 

Year after year, it was just like this, doing things for show and not actually doing what he wanted. Despite being unable to invite Prompto, they promised to celebrate on his actual birth date at the end of the month when he would actually turn 18, going to their favorite hole in the wall for brunch, playing at the arcades for hours, and finishing up with a marathon of bad action movies and more junk food at Noctis’ apartment. 

Noctis smiled at some more passing Crownsguards on the way to the penthouse suite of the hotel with Gladiolus, his Shield, at his side after another tiring celebration banquet. Their stay had consisted of photo ops at the historical Insomnian Gardens as a sort of opening ceremony before utilizing each day of their stay to drive out and pay respects to the different Kings of Yore, whose stone imagery made up The Old Wall. Invitees were able to join, stay at the hotel, or plan something else on their own, but everyone came together each night for a celebration banquet. 

King Regis prepared a different speech revolving around the King or Queen they visited that day, then Noctis added a little something of his own (with guidance from his advisor, Ignis). His Royal Majesty always concluded with, “May the Kings of Yore guide you in your life,” a saying that made Noctis more uncomfortable the older he got. Noctis thought by now the message would have been reduced to something meaningless, but he noticed, curiously, that Regis’ voice shook the more he said it. And, if Noctis wasn’t mistaken, the King sounded bitter. Noctis brushed off his discomfort, justifying that his dad was the emotional, dramatic type or maybe it had something to do with the assassination attempts on Noctis’ life when he was younger. 

When Noctis and Gladiolus arrived at Noctis’ suite, Gladio quickly swept through the room as they entered.

“Do you really have to do that?” Noct threw himself on the bed with a groan, arms sprawled out trying to expand the entire width of the king sized bed.

His shield laughed through his nostrils. “I really have to do that.” 

It wasn’t like Noctis wasn’t grateful. He just thought that if he himself was tired, Gladio must have felt the same. Gladio took his role seriously, but he was barely an adult himself.

“Looks good here, Your Highness,” Gladio wasn’t as quick as Noctis to drop formalities. “What will you have me do?”

Noctis hummed, still on his back. He would have loved to send Gladio to his own room so his shield could rest, but the final day of their stay always made him anxious. Everyone was in attendance then and he felt even more scrutinized. Plus, his dad had a surprise for him and Noctis knew it was something big, but would have to keep his composure for the cameras. But once the fireworks lit up the sky, that meant the festivities were over. He couldn’t wait for those fireworks. 

“Take a nap with me,” Noctis said sleepily. 

“You’re an idiot,” Gladio rolled his eyes, stepping out of ceremony, though still awaiting orders.

Noctis pointed at Gladio without moving the rest of his body that had gone limp with fatigue. “I’ll have you arrested for treason.”

He heard Gladio hiding a stifled laugh behind an angry huff. Smiling victoriously, Noctis patted the space next to him. There was plenty of room for the both of them. It was a bed fit for a king. “C’mon, big guy. I know you’re tired.”

Noct rolled away from the center to make room as Gladio over-dramatized a surrendering sigh and approached the bed. Noct found the quiet company comfortable. 

“Man, blondie would have loved to take a nap with you on a bed this size,” Gladio said, taking off his boots and uniform jacket, then rolled onto his back with his hands behind his head.

“Right? Maybe… one day...” Noctis muttered, his mouth just as heavy from sleepiness before he faded into a soft purr of a snore. 

“Astrals, Noct, you really are like a cat,” Gladio said through a yawn of his own. He moved an arm to ruffle Noctis’ head before falling asleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something for Noctis' birthday but ended up not finishing in time, so here it is now. I imagined these shindigs to be like the company retreats that I've been on and simultaneously loved and hated, sneaking in naps at the hotels with your friends/coworkers, just sprawled wherever was most comfortable, until someone came by the room with their Switch and then everyone played Mario Kart before having to go back to being all "business-y" in front of the higher ups.


	2. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis should have been getting ready for dinner.

Gladio hated these events almost as much as Noctis did. Even the shield wanted to lay back on his charge’s couch and watch the kid laugh and smile with his friends. He knew big events unnerved Noctis, so he much rather have the Prince go through meaningless trials in a video game than in real life. Sometimes Noct made it super easy to be his shield and Gladio wasn’t going to lie and say he hated those moments. 

But more often than not, for a kid who hated being a prince, he got into a lot of trouble. Or rather, trouble found him. Gladio neither praised nor admonished the soon-to-be 18 year old’s ability to make himself unremarkable in a crowd. Gladio observed that Noctis was quiet in public, neither held his head high nor kept his head down, didn’t have the air of royalty nor didn’t sulk drawing in attention. And yet, trouble still found him. Bullies, muggers, and harassers that got a little too close, too touchy. 

Gladio had been grateful that he had been there for most of these incidents, but felt uneasiness in his gut imagining the times that he wasn’t there, times that Noctis kept to himself, times when Noctis was alone and didn’t say a thing. It was just like Noctis to shrug off some of these incidents, saying, “yeah, but it’s fine now,” as if trying to make his Shield feel better, doing everything but. So when Noctis was at his own apartment, getting lost in some fake world, maybe alone, maybe with Prompto, Gladio felt at ease.

“What could happen?” Noctis had said at events like these. When Noctis was harassed, assaulted, and nearly killed those times, he had said the same thing, too. 

When his passing memories slowed to a stop, Gladio dozed off.

The nap was most welcomed, but short-lived. 

Gladiolus’ eyes shot open to the sound of knocking on Noctis’ door. He turned to the Prince to find him still curled on his side of the bed but with his forehead digging into Gladio’s side. As Gladio got off the bed, he heard Noctis utter the smallest “Don’t go.” Gladio’s expression softened as he replaced his body heat with the pillow he laid on. 

Gladio stretched his arms above his head until he heard a few pops in his neck and spine, approaching the door. “Who is it?” he asked, peeking through the peephole to find a dressed up Ignis who had pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Uh-oh,” Gladio muttered, glancing at the hotel room clock. It was almost 5pm which meant dinner was in an hour and the Prince’s advisor and, as Prompto put it, “Team Mama,” looked as if he was moments away from barging down the door.

“It’s Ignis… Gladiolus,” he spoke through grit teeth, holding his breath.

Gladio opened it cautiously. Maybe, despite all his bulk and size especially for his age, there was one person Gladiolus feared. “Sup, Specs.” 

Ignis all but tackled him, with bundles of clothes in hand. 

“Gladio,” Ignis gestured to the sleeping prince. “I’m not surprised that Prince Noctis isn’t dressed and ready, as much as I had hoped today would be the day he surprised me. I even brought extra formal wear because I suspected he’d fallen asleep in his clothes, and we can’t have him address the counsel in a wrinkled raiment now, can we?”

Gladio hummed in agreement, not daring to interrupt Ignis who was having an especially stressful day. 

“But what I am surprised at is that you were here with him and you didn’t bother to try to wake him up. And yet you’re the one who tells me that I baby hi- wait- did you also take a nap here?” 

Gladio would have laughed at how indignant his fellow retainer sounded if he didn’t also fear him. “I was obeying orders,” Gladio confessed, smoothing out his hair. 

Ignis sighed. “You’re terrible, you know that?"

“Yeah, yeah, go wake up the brat,” Gladio smirked, unapologetically.

With another sigh to collect himself, Ignis did just that. He gently patted Noctis’ shoulder with no success before he resorted to shaking him lightly. 

Gladio walked over casually, and gripped the comforter they had slept atop of and pulled it violently, causing Noctis to roll violently off the edge of the bed.

Noctis only groaned.

“Up and attem, Princess,” Gladio smiled victoriously, ignoring Ignis’ glare. 

“Gladio…” Noctis said between a yawn, slowly sitting up. “You’re terrible.”

“So I’ve been told,” Gladio responded. “I’ll leave you two to it.” Made his way to the exit to freshen up in his own suite. 

“Two?” Noct turned over his shoulder to see Ignis standing there, simply waiting. “Dammit, what time is it?”

“Nearly 5:15,” Ignis responded. “I’ve brought you a selection of raiment, so please choose and change quickly, Your Highness.”

“Specs,” Noctis warned, slowly rising to his feet. "It's just us."

“Apologies. ‘ _Noct_.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I think Gladio is super devoted to his role, but being as young as he is, I like to imagine that he's someone who enjoys taking it easy once in a while.


	3. Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King gives Noctis his present

By some miracle, Ignis managed to get Noctis ready for the banquet. The Prince even swiped his hair to the side and out of his face, before meeting Gladio in the hallway. Noctis just had to endure a few more hours of shallow pleasantries and not make a fool of himself. The fireworks would go off, everyone would say their ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs,’ and Noctis would be able to return to spend the rest of the night at the Citadel and open a few of his presents. 

Though he knew no dignitary would give him a copy of any video game on his wishlist, he still appreciated the gesture, especially from those considered in the lower hierarchy of Citadel service-- the ones he personally invited. He’d urged, almost begged, them to not get him a gift, yet they always do. They knew Noctis better than the counsel or those in high ranks. The kitchen staff usually baked him pastries, and the garden keepers last year gave him a new fishing rod. 

Everyone else gave Noctis symbols of status to adorn himself with. Noctis once responded in private company, “I don’t need to remind myself that I’m the Prince,” which his dear retinue and father knew that translated to “I don’t want anyone to know I’m the Prince.” 

His father was both dismayed and humored. So, the King advised, “Be sure to thank them for the gift regardless, yes?” 

When the Prince and his advisor met up with the Shield, Gladiolus formally saluted and fell into step naturally alongside Noctis while Ignis mimicked the gesture before bowing out. Though Noctis would rather Ignis indulge in the festivities with fake smiles and shallow bows like he and Gladio had to do, Ignis had to make arrangements for Noctis’ departure from the hotel to the Citadel, organizing his gifts as well as ensuring the banquet’s cleanup. 

Having trained Noctis since his preteens, Gladio understood his charge's body language. Tonight, Noctis’ shoulders were heavy with dread as his nerves tightened around his fingers and his neck. Though Noctis managed to keep his face stoic, Gladio could sense his heart beating from his chest. “Glad I took that nap,” he said in an attempt to ease the Prince.

It was somewhat successful. Noctis wrinkled his nose, suppressing a smile. “Yeah. Naps are great.”

“What’s eating you up? Besides all this,” Gladio spoke low. Soft. 

Noctis took time before he answered, using all of his focus on just walking across the halls past the whispers and murmurs of people he passed by. It wasn’t like the whispers he received when he was in school or when someone noticed him at the mall. Those voices were filled with disbelief and excitement. Instead, these were whispers from those who saw him often, whose jobs revolved around him and his father as much as the kingdom of Lucis. Whispers from those that were at his service, rightful to criticize him as an heir apparent, as Insomnia’s leader, and-- technically-- as an employer. Spiteful voices, Noctis imagined. Disgusted, disappointed. 

“Did your dad say anything about what my dad has planned?” Noctis sighed. He was afraid of this whole performance, afraid if his reaction would be right or wrong.

“Nah,” Gladio said simply. “Didn’t hear a thing. Sorry, Highness.”

Noctis sighed. “C’mon, your dad doesn’t gossip about my dad or anything?” Noctis noted Gladio’s pause. Gladio never hesitated. “No. Way. Gladio, you have to tell me!”

“And risk execution? Hell no,” Gladio smiled.

“You know that’s not a thing,” Noctis whined. “C’mon, tell me. What did my dad do that got under Clarus’ skin, huh?” 

“His Majesty once, uh, tried to wear my dad’s robes?”

“You’re kidding…,” Noctis narrowed his eyes.

“....While trying to get my dad to wear His Majesty’s raiment.”

“NO,” Noctis exclaimed between a whisper and a shout. “Oh, I’m sure the Astrals LOVED that,” he snorted.

Gladio continued, his voice low and slightly hunched toward Noctis’ ear. “Apparently he told my dad, ‘I just want to see if anyone would notice the difference.’”

“That’s like if we were to switch places,” Noctis scrunched his face. “So?”

“My dad totally got to wear the raiment.”

“And...Did anyone notice the difference?” Noctis joked.

“The Marshal caught them. Dad was totally embarrassed.” 

“Wow, didn’t think anything could phase him.”

“This was only a few years ago, too. He came home pretty quiet, I thought he was pissed at something. Or that _you_ did something. Turns out the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. ”

Noctis tugged on the front of his own raiment. “So… do you wanna swap-”

“Don’t even think about it,” Gladio interrupted. “I couldn’t even fit in your tiny clothes, anyways.”

"Yeah, you can barely fit a shirt." Noctis felt better overall. 

They walked through the lobby and outside of the hotel where most of the crowd had managed to gather, drinks already in hand. The street was blocked off and an area at the curb was stanchioned off where King Regis stood with his cane. 

“Right,” Noctis inhaled and exhaled deeply before marching toward his father. He gave a few nods and short waves to the crowd murmuring in excitement. It was strange to Noctis that they were more excited than he was. 

King Regis then smiled with open arms, the crowd hushing as he did so. "Noctis Lucis Caelum,” the King took Noctis’ hand. _Uh, oh. Full name,_ Noctis thought. “One hundred and fourteenth. My son and future King. Please, accept this gift."

His dad gestured to the open, empty street outside of the hotel and Noctis looked at it and then back at him curiously before hearing a gentle purr of an engine. Barely a moment later, a car pulled up to the two of them. Sleek and black, with silver detailing on the trim and the grill mesh. Noctis’ mouth was agape, eyeing the custom rims of the two-door. Exiting from the driver's seat was the Marshal, Cor Leonis, who dangled the keys in front of him. 

"Dad? I-I mean Your Majesty. " Noctis was stunned, and for once his silence brought glee out of the spectators.

"One of a kind, just like its owner. So we named it the Star of Lucis.” The King urged Noctis to take the keys.

“It’s really for me?” Everyone laughed and Noctis blushed, but he couldn’t tear himself away from his father’s eyes still in disbelief.

“My Star, who else's birthday have we been celebrating?" 

Noctis clasped his hand around the keys. “Th-thank you,” he stammered.

Cor bowed ceremoniously, holding the door for Noctis. The plush leather seats and a new car smell awaited him. “Happy Birthday, Your Highness.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's canon that Noctis received his car when he turned 20. But shhhh....


	4. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis has a speech prepared and Gladio learns of a new story between his father and The King. Then, an unexpected surprise happens.

After a test drive and a lot of “Okay, you have to get out of the car and come back to the party now,” from Gladio, the banquet went underway as planned. Ignis had designed the courses filled with rich dishes, purposeful and beautifully plated. The plating illustrated the history of Lucis and Insomnia but featured plenty of easy to remove vegetables for Noctis’ sake because it was his birthday (and Ignis would never admit that he did that on purpose).

Noctis carried himself well, seated at his father’s side while their Shields surrounded the both of them, managing to remember all the etiquette he seemed to frequently forget whenever he ate with Prompto: using the right utensils at the right time, dabbing his lips with his napkin-- not his sleeve-- and covertly nudging the carrots on his plate to the edges with his fork without making a face. Ignis would have been proud of Noctis if Ignis hadn’t inhaled a fraction of his meal before dismissing himself to anxiously micromanage the kitchen staff. 

Once bellies were filled and throats quenched, everyone moved toward the rooftop of the hotel according to schedule. Gladio wondered if attendees were also as anxious as Noctis for this to all be over based on their punctuality. The Shield looked at Noctis who had wiped his slick hands on his nice, pressed pants in preparation of delivering one final speech, which was to be just a word of thanks, before the fireworks went off. 

"Shit," he hissed so low that only Gladio heard. 

"You good?" Gladio raised a brow, matching Noct’s level as he placed a steady hand on his shoulder to ground him. Gladio felt heat through the blazer. 

"Nervous." Noctis dabbed at his forehead with his sleeve, his face souring as he realized how damp it felt. He tried to remind himself that he was no stranger to speeches, nor to the people that made up the crowd. But perhaps it was because he saw these people all the time, it felt worse. 

Then, the band stopped playing. In the absence of music, Noctis could hear soft murmurs of the city so awake even at night: the hum of cars, the buzz of life below, even his own heartbeat. The loudest of all the noise was the shuffle of everyone's heads turning to his direction, which scared any memory of the script he and Ignis had prepared for the night.   
  
“Shit,” he repeated. Gladio could only sympathize. 

The Prince inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, just like Prompto had taught him, before clearing his throat of any remaining nerves. He glanced at various parts of the crowd, trying hard to not to look at any of their faces before he looked to his feet, eyebrows furrowing to search for the words he wanted to say, not the words he thought they wanted to hear. 

"Thank you, everyone,” he let the words sit on his tongue, testing its sound. He sought his own words’ honesty before he continued. “For not only being here with us tonight but for your guidance. I can… I can only hope to be half as good of a ruler my father is, but with your continued support, I will make you proud. Thank you, again."  
  
He smiled and the crowd applauded. Noctis almost ran off stage. 

The Shield caught Noctis’ strained smile, a fake smile he used to hide from the world. The Shield caught the quick plummet of his Prince’s mood, shackled to the heavy burden that not even Gladio, in all his muscle, could help carry. But the Shield also caught the sincerity of the impromptu words. Gladio knew it was true. He lived it every day. 

Noctis was a brat, there was no denying that. But Gladio couldn’t begin to sympathize what it must have felt like for Noctis to have experienced his first assassination attempt when he was young, resulting in this overprotective bubble around him that only grew as the attempts happened again and again. It took a long while for Gladio to understand why Noctis had tried to distance himself from everyone and everything. And while Gladio, as his Shield, was taught that there may be a day where he’d give up his life for Noctis, Noctis had experienced first hand that there existed people who would all give up their lives for his. That made his loneliness even lonelier.

When Gladio was young, after a frustrating day dealing with another one of Noctis’ shutdowns, Gladio confided in his own father. Gladio expressed his concerns about His Majesty’s simultaneous overzealous sheltering and abandonment of the poor Prince.

“I bet he’s feeling pretty isolated,” Gladio told his father that day. 

Clarus responded with a soft but sad smile, “Noctis was chosen for something much greater than you or I or even His Majesty. What this means, only the King knows. But what he does, whether we feel is right or wrong, he does out of love and not duty. I hope you will be a friend to Prince Noctis as well as his Shield. If he’s anything like his father, he’s going to do a lot of things that will…”

“...piss me off?” Gladio finished for him.

“Yes,” Clarus laughed. “But help him through it. Keep him focused. He needs you.”

Those words echoed in Gladio’s head as he led Noctis away from the crowd on the rooftop. They didn’t seem to notice a change in the Prince’s behavior and returned to their conversations, waving champagne flutes in hand, lounging on the rooftop seating, or standing near the railing waiting for the fireworks due soon. They seemed pleased with it overall. 

"That was great, kid," Gladio dropped formality in hopes of bringing a sense of comfort to Noctis. It only half worked. 

"Ugh, my head feels funny," Noctis covered his eyes with a hand, unsure if he was embarrassed or upset or both, but he knew he didn't feel good. 

Gladio tilted his head when Noctis leaned into him unknowingly. He didn’t realize the extent of Noct’s troubles, affecting him so much that his knees buckled with weakness. 

"Let me get you some water," he said, leading Noctis to lean against the wall in the shadows away from the crowd and the lights. Gladio wished Ignis was here instead of running around like an angry cockatrice, probably hiding his frustration through grit teeth and making passive aggressive comments under his breath at the incompetent staff. Ignis knew how to talk to Noctis through his emotions. Gladio didn't. His default remedies were "drink water" and "get more sleep." 

He moved toward the crowd to the far end near the open bar where he was surprised to see the King and his father lounging and smiling.

“Ah, Gladiolus,” King Regis called out, cheerfully. “Did your father ever tell you of the time he took a tumble into the Quay.”

“Your Majesty…” Clarus sighed, trying to keep his face stoic, though everyone knew Clarus wasn’t above showing his dismay at the King. 

“No, he has not, Your Majesty,” Gladio pursed his lips, wondering where this was going. 

“That’s because I didn’t _‘tumble’_ into the Quay. You _pushed_ me,” Clarus responded. 

His Majesty fell into a fit of laughter that reminded Gladio a lot of Noctis’ own giggles, while Clarus’ eyes begged his own son to not indulge. Gladio understood the source of all the lines and wrinkles on his father’s face and wondered how long it would take for Noctis to turn all the hairs on Gladio’s head white. 

After a brief and pleasant back and forth with the King, Gladio hurried back to tell Noctis of this new story with a glass of water in hand. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Gladio fished it out, cocking his head to the side when he realized it wasn’t Noctis calling him out of impatience.

Instead, it was Ignis.

“Sup, Iggy,” Gladio answered.

“Gladio. Where’s Noct?” He sounded breathless. 

“He’s--” Gladio stared wide-eyed at the now empty space where he last left Noctis, the glass cracking in his hand.

“I tried calling him but he didn’t pick up. Listen to me carefully, Gladiolus. I found traces of poison in the kitchen. Cor is with me- he’s dispatched a team to covertly uncover the perpetrators. Is His Highness with you?” 

Gladio didn’t get a chance to respond before gunfire rang out across the rooftop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that Clarus and Regis got into a lot of trouble when they were younger. Cor was the only sane man in the group, and Weskham was definitely the enabler. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis is escorted away from his Shield.

Maybe the nap didn’t do him any good. His head felt like it was collapsing in on itself, and the rest of him was warm and sweaty. Noctis’ knees risked buckling at any moment and he gripped his hands together to stop them from shaking.   
  
Somehow-- be it the will of the Astrals or what, he didn’t know-- he managed to get through his last speech of the night without falling apart. Even if he did end up forgetting everything Ignis had helped him come up with, he managed to improvise and the crowd seemed pleased. He spoke honestly and hoped it was good enough.

With the final word of thanks, his vision blurred and he lost his dad in the crowd, whom he desperately sought. Instead he found himself leaning against a wall and remembered, despite the fog in his head, Gladio had left to get him water. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the scratchiness in his throat, and how hard it was to swallow. And upon realizing _that_ , he felt like he couldn’t stand much longer. 

He wished Gladio hadn’t left him. 

Noctis didn’t know how long he could keep up appearances before he doubled over and vomited or did something else just as embarrassing. Leaning against the wall stilled his legs for only a moment. 

He had apparently done a poor job of appearing fine. Two Crownsguards approached him, their faces also blurry. He couldn’t name them no matter how hard he tried.

“Your Highness?” One sounded alarmed. “Are you alright?”

Noctis shook his head. No, he wasn’t alright, but also no, he didn’t want them near him. “Glad… He’s… I’m getting water.” It hurt to breathe as much as it did to talk. 

“Perhaps you need to take a break. Let us escort you to your suite.” One put his hand under Noct’s elbow to steady him. 

“Mmm..,” Noctis agreed, dreaming of laying down on cool sheets and fluffy pillows, but quickly disagreed because something in his gut told him to stay. “But Gladio…”

“We’ll let your Shield know, Your Highness. Please come with us.”

Noctis’ mind told him to wait for Gladio. But he felt hands gripping both of his arms, and leading him toward the elevator. He tried not to stumble on himself. He tried to protest, but sleep sounded good and Gladio would come for him later. He’d text him an apology once he got to his room. 

They rode the elevator down in silence, thankfully. Noctis didn’t have the energy to talk. He slouched, fumbling with the buttons of his blazer and leaned sloppily against the glass walls. Noctis tilted his head against the glass, trying to use the chill of it to clear the fog in his head. 

That’s when he heard popping. At first he thought the fireworks had finally started, but he heard screaming immediately after. It was the undeniable patter of gunfire. He motioned to stop the elevator, but the men, seemingly unaware, blocked his path. He had to go back up there. He had to find his dad.

Noctis forced himself to shout, “Stop the elevator!” 

The men turned to him, unbothered. 

The larger “Crownsguard” shoved Noctis against the glass as the second man drew a blade without magic. It was clear then that these were neither guards nor glaives. 

Noctis tried to phase through the first attack using his Crystal-given powers, but he still felt groggy, unable to do so. He fumbled out of the way, ducking low and reaching out to press the buttons on the elevator. He lurched forward but was shoved back immediately, taking a heavy punch to the jaw, and staggering backwards to the floor. He was then met with a heavy kick to his stomach.

Adrenaline cleansed the fog in his head for a moment, allowing him to dissipate in a blue mist as the second assassin swung down with his blade. Noctis reappeared and rolled away with a punch, getting a strike in on one of them, he couldn’t tell which one. He wished that his magical abilities were stronger, that they weren’t limited by the assassination attempt by the daemon Marilith, nor by whatever sickness he battled that night. 

He didn’t know if his dad would be able to save him this time. 

It was the longest elevator ride of his life. Sick-- he hoped and not poisoned, though that did cross his mind-- and approaching stasis, he couldn’t only fend himself off for so long. They sliced him up on his sides and stabbed him right through his leg. Noctis cried out through grit teeth, using all of his will power to kick one of the men’s knees, staggering him before Noct kicked his head against the glass wall of the elevator. A sickeningly wet crack echoed in the chamber as the man’s head bounced off the glass and his body crumpled on itself. Blood stained the wall there, but Noctis didn’t want to nor had time to think about what he had just done. 

Noctis couldn’t tell which was his blood and which were his attackers’. He couldn’t tell if his limbs weakened with blood loss or from whatever sickness he contracted that got him here in the first place. But his drive to find his people, his friends, and his dad kept him going. Noctis managed to knock the blade from the remaining attacker’s hand and they immediately started exchanging blows. Noctis was only able to phase through a few of them, getting weaker by the minute. His punches were slick with the blood draining from his arms, and he kept stumbling with the horrible gash in his leg. He took another blow in the stomach and went down as the air escaped him. 

He lay like that for a moment, lungs greedy and desperate. His attacker capitalized on Noct’s weakness to catch his own breath, then smacked a few buttons and fled out the elevator not before spitting in Noctis' direction. 

Noctis refused to be left for dead, using all his strength to roll over to his side, reaching out to the discarded blade hidden beneath red pools. As quick as he could with his shaking hands, he threw it out of the elevator and his spirit with it. The doors closed on the fleeting essence of an electric blue haze in his shape, just missing his physical form. The blade hurled through the air and toward the limping, fleeing man and with it appeared Noctis, tackling him to the ground. 

As they struggled, Noctis was able to get on top of his attacker, straddling him to hold him in place, scrambling for his arms too. The attacker saw the blade Noctis used to warp and reached for it quicker than Noctis could notice.

With a resounding cry, the attacker drove the blade into Noctis’ side, burying it deep with hardly a noise as it cut through his flesh. Noctis wavered in their scramble, but didn’t stop as he punched the man in the face, all his movements exacerbating the blade still stuck in his side. Whether it was vengeance or fear, Noctis knew he couldn’t let this man go. 

He wrapped his hand around the blade, and yanked it out despite hearing Ignis’ voice explaining hundreds of reasons why he should have left it in. Using the blade slicked by his own blood, he drove it into the man’s neck. The man clawed at Noctis’ arms, his face, even jabbed his fingers into Noctis’ wounded side before he slumped, eyes staring soullessly at the ceiling of the hotel hallway.

Noctis stumbled, peeling himself off the man’s corpse. It hurt to move, the fogginess came back, and his limbs shook. He knew he had to crawl somewhere-- anywhere-- that felt safe, but everything started to go bright and his arms could no longer support his weight. He focused on filling his lungs, but it kept stopping short, making horrible wheezing noises that sounded foreign to his own ears. 

Noctis propped himself up against the wall, fishing for his phone to call Gladio, hoping that everyone was safe despite the screams he heard on his way down. 

His eyes wandered back down the hall trying to blink clarity into them once he struggled one too many times to unlock his phone. Images of screaming, fleeing people-- his dad amongst them-- raked his thoughts and he tried not to sob.

As he glanced toward the elevator that was stuck open, the interior chamber painted with his and others’ blood, staggered red footprints leading away from them, he dropped his phone.

The second body wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poor staff that will have to clean up this mess :( 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos! I'm a bit shy to reply, but I appreciate all of them!


	6. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio didn't bring enough (or any?) potions for this.

Gunfire rang out. Gladio dove over innocent partygoers as they ran for cover, looking for any sign of his charge. He glanced once to his father who had thrown his own body over His Majesty. 

Ignis was still on the other line.

“Gunfire on the rooftops. Get to safety and try to contact Noct,” Gladio barked, pocketing his phone without waiting for a response. 

During the scramble, he met Clarus’ eyes. He furrowed his eyebrows, overhearing Gladio’s message to Ignis, in a silent question of “where’s His Highness?”

Gladio looked away, entrusting His Majesty to his father and sprinted off to the elevators. He frantically tapped the button as the numbered lights above lit up one by one. It felt like centuries, yet somehow faster than leaping down the staircase, searching each floor one by one. The glass walls of the elevator would allow Gladio the perfect vantage to search for his missing Prince. 

The elevator arrived with a chime. When the doors opened, Gladio’s mouth dropped and heart sank. Blood flooded the floor of the elevator and painted the walls. 

He shook his head, refusing to assume the worst as he rode the splattered elevator, praying that none of the blood was Noctis’. The only good thing to come from the red coated chamber was the definitive fingerprint on one of the buttons, the floor where Noctis’ suite was located. 

Gladio counted seconds, but decades of panic built up as he descended. The elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors opened to the sound of Noctis’ screams. 

In a fraction of a second, Gladio saw one man, a blade through his neck, staring blankly at the ceiling. In the next second his eyes caught another man, blood pouring from his head, with his foot pressed into Noctis’ bleeding abdomen. And in the third second, his eyes snapped to Noctis, pinned under the man’s foot, crying out, clawing at the man’s leg, kicking at the ground, doing anything he could to get away. These three seconds of observation ignited Gladio.

The man smiled as he placed more weight on the foot that pinned Noctis down, reveling in the torture. 

“Gladio!” Noctis used the remaining strength that bled from his body to scream out for his Shield, a desperate summon for a man he didn't know was even nearby. 

Regret, guilt, rage, and fear all boiled within Gladio then as he reached full sprint emboldened by his Prince’s cries. Summoned like an Astral, Gladio tackled the man. He had no idea where they landed and he didn’t care. The sounds of his fists pulverizing the man’s already weakened skull mixed with Noctis’ desperate gasps fueled Gladio even more until what he punched was no longer solid, a sure sign that the attacker would not be getting up again. 

Not giving himself a moment to catch his own breath, Gladio ran back over to Noctis, who was wheezing, holding his side.

“I got you, I got you,” Gladio repeated, gently cupping Noctis’ face, searching for signs of pain. Noctis opened his mouth to speak, but only uttered soft yet pained noises as he held his side.

“Shit,” Gladio swore, replacing Noct’s hands with his own against the wound. Noctis choked out a cry, his hand shooting up to tangle itself in Gladio’s shirt, seeking relief. Teeth clenched, he huffed through his nose, trying to blink the tears away before they fell. Gladio recognized that look as one Noctis wore when he desperately tried and failed to suppress all the fear building within him. 

Gladio repeated, “I got you,” for himself.

“We gotta get out of here,” Gladio said, ignoring any protests as he slid his arm under Noctis’ knees, the other cradling torso close, being as mindful as he could of his wounds. But there was no spot on him that seemed untouched. 

Gladio ran to Noct’s nearby suite, juggling the keycard from his pocket to open the door, wincing at the groans suppressed behind Noctis’ teeth that spilled with every movement. The room was quiet, empty, devoid of panicking party goers and gunmen. The blanket was still discarded on the floor and the sheets wrinkled from their nap earlier. 

Gladio lowered Noctis onto the bed while fishing out his phone at the same time, throwing his phone on speaker when he called his dad. The phone rang and rang and no one picked up.

“Shit,” Gladio swore again, peeling Noctis out of his jacket, and navigating through the layers of fabric to expose his wounds, using Noct’s gentle hisses as feedback to find his injuries. 

Through shuddering breaths, Noctis managed to ask, “Dad?”

“My dad’s got him, don’t worry,” Gladio hoped, guiding both Noctis’s hands to press onto his side. Sensing his weakness, Gladio kept his larger hand over them, for extra support. With his free hand, Gladio surveyed the stab wound in his leg, the gashes on his arms, and the bruises on his jaw. 

“What did they do to you?” Gladio said to himself as he ripped cloth from the pillow cases as makeshift bandages.

When it felt too quiet, Gladio looked up. “Noctis?” 

Noctis’ expression was slack, his hands were slipping off his side. 

“C’mon, kid,” Gladio cupped his head gently, relief washing over him when he heard Noctis hum. “Stay awake for me, yeah?” He felt Noctis try to nod. 

“Call Ignis,” Gladio commanded his phone, letting out an uneven breath he didn’t know he was holding, as he stepped away to look around the room for anything else that could help stem the bleeding, but knew there’d be no potions, no elixirs, and no phoenix downs.

“...-dio?” Noct spoke, barely a whisper.

“Yeah? Noct?” Gladio responded too fast.

“Don’t go.” Noctis’ voice was as soft as his breaths.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Panic stewed within him. He heard those words before and he wished to go back just hours before when they were napping peacefully in this room. He hadn’t realized how red his hands had gotten or how much they shook. 

“Gladio?” Ignis had picked up, his voice urgent but composed. Gladio envied him.

“Igs! Are you o-”

Ignis interrupted sternly over Gladio’s shaken voice. “The Marshall is with His Majesty. The glaives have apprehended the attackers, and have locked down the place looking for more. Where is Noctis?”

Gladio swallowed, “He’s hurt bad, Igs. We’re in his room.”

“On my way. Stay on the line. What should I be expecting?” Ignis asked for all their sakes. 

“Stab wound on his side and leg. Shallow cuts across his chest. Deeper cuts on his arms. Looks like he was punched a few times too. Concussion maybe.” Gladio had to remember to thank Ignis later. Survival was Gladio’s specialty and being able to give Ignis the report allowed him to quell the panic.

“Igs is on his way, okay? Noct?”

Noctis hummed softly. 

Gladio brushed aside Noct’s bangs sticking to the blood and sweat on his face while he used his other hand to help Noctis put pressure on his wound. He hadn’t forgotten the potential poison in his system either but all Gladio could do was wait. He held Noct’s hand in his free one, pressing it against his forehead in a soft bow as he prayed to the Astrals or anyone that would listen. 

The beep of a successful keycard swipe and a muffled “It’s Ignis!” pulled Gladio from his prayer.  
  
Gladio nearly ripped open the door for him. “Please tell me you’ve brought potions.”

“Of all sorts,” Ignis replied, pushing past Gladio to his Prince’s side. 

To anyone else, Ignis was as composed as ever. Voice and breathing steady, hands skilled and precise. But Gladio knew Ignis’ robotic movements were a result of struggling to suppress his panic.

“Your Highness? Noct?” He called out, pressing his fingers against his stab wound at Noctis’ side, then moving his hands down his arms and his legs assessing the injuries. Noctis furrowed his brows with the pain but made no noise. “Cor is securing His Majesty and is on the way here,” he reported to calm the behemoth of a man hovering over him. 

“This should do in the meantime,” Ignis stated once his assessment was over. He applied an elixir over Noctis’ body. The liquid danced in the air, mixing with Noct’s crystalline power, slicking over his skin in a liquid that somehow looked dry and transient. The superficial wounds began to close leaving thin white lines of raised flesh that would fade within a few days. Bruising returned to their natural color as the blood in his body evened out. The deeper stab wound in his leg closed, albeit slowly, as well as the horrible hole on Noctis’ side. Though, that one would ache for much longer given how deep it was to hit his ribs. 

Then Ignis applied an antidote in the same manner. A magical liquid that lifted disease and toxin from the body regardless of the source radiated around his skin. The relief was instant as Noctis gave a big sigh. His skin even felt less clammy.

“Gladiolus, Ignis,” Cor spoke as he arrived, Gladio letting him in the room. “His Highness?”

“We’ve applied one elixir and one antidote. He has two deep wounds that will cause him discomfort for the next remaining days, if not weeks. And the antidote seems to have taken effect almost immediately.”

“What’s the status out there?” Gladio heard himself ask, unsure why when all he could think about was Noctis. 

“Five are suspected, three captured, two found dead.” Cor looked pointedly at Gladio. “His Majesty is on his way back to the Citadel despite some difficulty in convincing him to leave before His Highness. We’re fortunate that you were able to secure the Prince here while the assassins were apprehended, Gladiolus.”

Gladio frowned at that, eyes locking onto Cor’s with an unwavering heat, practically offended at The Marshall’s disregard for Gladio’s failure. “I almost lost him,” Gladio confessed. 

The lines in Cor’s face tightened, but Ignis and Gladio could tell that was his way of trying to soften his expression. As if someone commanded him to “play nice.” His voice remained devoid of emotion, “Prince Noctis has unfortunately suffered through many life threatening events.” He placed a hand on Gladio’s shoulder and repeated, “We’re fortunate that you were able to secure the Prince.” 

Gladio was speechless at the repetition, looking at Ignis then back to Cor.

Cor kept his eyes from rolling and sighed, “In other words, you’re not at fault for the existence of those that would harm our Prince. He’s alive right now because of you two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this out earlier, but I had to deal with literal fires, family emergencies, and personal things. But I'm glad it's out! One chapter to go!


	7. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis has one more birthday wish.

Noctis woke up in the infirmary wing of the Citadel, where many guards and glaives came to be treated after training there. If it was not filled with injured trainees, it was occupied by a chronically pained King Regis and an obstinate and worried Prince. This time, Noctis laid on a bed, surrounded by silence save for his own breathing.

As the Prince tried to sit up and gain his bearings, a firm hand held him down. “Please, no sudden movements, Your Highness.” It was Ignis. “Allow me to assist you.” 

Though he wasn’t fond of the overly formal tone, he silently agreed, allowing Ignis to help him sit up. It took more time than he hoped, but the grating pain in his side prevented him from bending in certain ways, and it hurt more than he was willing to bear right after waking up. Ignis held a cup of water out to Noctis, in which he tried to grab but his hand could only hover half way up battling gravity. Ignis tipped the cup to the Prince’s lips without hesitation and the Prince drank, slow yet desperate.

“You okay?” Noct managed to ask, swallowing hard and catching his breath.

Ignis smiled, heart filled with warmth and relief. “I am. Though I should be asking you the same thing.”

“‘m fine,” he responded simply, though Ignis’ disbelieving frown caused him to elaborate. “Just groggy.”

Ignis wished Noctis wasn’t always so dismissive of his own feelings and always tried to make Noctis elaborate on them. Mental, emotional, and physical. But somehow the one word answer satisfied him and he didn’t press further. 

Ignis gave a defeated yet fond sigh. “You’ll be resting in your rooms for a few days until you regain your strength.”

Noctis hummed, moving to sink back comfortably into the bed, until a painful pull at his side hit him and he groaned. Ignis repositioned the pillows around him. 

“Everyone else is good, too?” Noctis asked, finally finding a position to settle in. 

“The suspects were apprehended quickly. Few suffered minor wounds and even fewer need be treated. You’re the only one who-...” _Almost died._ Ignis cleared his throat. “It seems that the plot involved poisoning during dinner, but your connection to the Crystal had other ideas and fought off the toxins, which explains why you felt so uneasy afterwards.”

“Oh… How’d you know?” Noctis spoke slowly, trying to process the information.

“Gladio gave his reports," Ignis’ smile weakened. “When the poison didn’t take effect, it appeared that their plan B was to separate you from His Majesty and deal with you both then. Impersonating Crownsguards went under our radar. I’m so sorry, Noct.” 

“Don’t. Ignis,” Noctis huffed a warning. “This was not your fault. This stuff just... happens.”

That failed to ease Ignis’ feelings on the matter and instead his heart ached for his Prince and friend.

Silence hung in the air.

“Where’s Gladio anyways?” Noct asked, tugging at his blankets.

Ignis pushed up the frame of his glasses. “I’m afraid he followed his guilty conscience out of the Citadel.”

“Man, he always does this,” Noctis snorted. “Did you tell him it's not his fault?”

Ignis remained silent.

“Iiignis!” Noct reprimanded and was cut off when he felt the painful tug on his side. 

“Highness…”

“Knock it off, Igs. It’s just us,” Noct let Ignis readjust his pillows. “Why do you two gotta do that? Every bad thing that happens isn’t because of you. It’s because of me. And that’s just the facts.” 

“Noctis, don’t say-” Ignis’ hands hovered over Noctis, wanting to pull him into an embrace to ease the burden of his birthright. 

“Prince’s orders: tell Gladio to come back so I can yell at the both of you at the same time.”

Ignis opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“I’m serious! Call him!” Noct taunted, his voice low and serious, but his face brighter than Ignis had seen in the past couple of days.   
  
Ignis fished for his cell phone and dialed the Shield as his Prince commanded. 

It was picked up on the first ring. 

Noctis could only hear the muffled sound of Gladio’s voice on the other side, but couldn’t make out the words. It only sounded loud, quick, and angry.

"He's fine. Yes, I’m certain. In fact, he's pulling rank right now. His highness would like for you to return immediately." A few of-courses and absolutely-nots later, Ignis finally hung up with a “We’ll be here.”

He let out an exhausted sigh and gave a pointed look to Noctis. The Prince laughed softly.

* * *

Noctis didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up to the sound of Gladio nearly barreling through the door, ignoring the disapproving sounds of the medical team outside. 

"Noct!" he breathed, trying to sound like he didn't sprint all the way there. 

“You seek an audience with the Prince?” Noctis feigned an accent that mimicked their fathers, rubbing his eyes. 

“Shut the hell up. How are you feeling?” Gladio approached the bed angrily, though his face was awashed with relief. He gave a single nod to Ignis, who returned the gesture. 

“Fine,” Noctis replied. Ignis cleared his throat. “Sore,” Noctis amended. 

Gladio let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. 

“I said this to Specs, but you need to hear it too.” Noctis cleared his throat. Gladio crossed his arms already not wanting to hear his Prince dismiss them of their failures. “You two are going to wear me out if I have to keep repeating this.” 

The air around them grew heavy and they became stiff. Gladio and Ignis listened to Noctis’ voice, though stern, it quavered-- with weakness or emotion, neither Ignis nor Gladio could say, but they let him have his piece. 

“Every time something like this happens, I wonder what I’m doing wrong and what I should be doing differently. Luna was the first one, actually, to tell me that this stuff isn’t my fault.” He looked at their faces. “I worked _really_ hard to try to believe her.”

Noctis spoke slowly, tasting each sentence in his mouth. Careful and fearful, he continued. “So, when I say none of this is _your_ fault, you two really need to believe it. Stop beating yourself up when shit like this happens, or else...” Noctis hesitated, then gave a sigh of commitment. “Or else I’m going to start thinking it’s all my fault again.” 

Noctis hid his face behind a hand. The lights started to feel too bright for his stinging eyes, and he was afraid his face was growing pink. “It’s cuz of you guys that I’m not dead right now.” 

Gladio stood stunned at the bluntness of his words and he bit his lip at how vague “right now” seemed, hoping Noctis didn’t mean to suggest something else beside assassination attempts.

Ignis, who had a better understanding of Noctis in general, moved to hold Noctis’ other hand. Gladio was always jealous of how easy that was for him.

"Okay," Ignis affirmed. "Okay." 

Gladio stayed silent.

This ended up wearing Noctis out and he slipped into slumber. Gladio and Ignis exchanged pained smiles, a silent agreement of their Prince’s demands: they were not to blame themselves. Instead, they’d work harder to be there for him. 

“Take a break, Ig? I got this,” Gladio moved to sit in place of Ignis. It was less of a command and more of a plea, so Ignis conceded. 

Gladio leaned over the bed, to catch a glimpse of his Prince sound asleep. He relished in the rise and fall of his chest, the soft breaths that escaped his lips, and just how peaceful and safe he looked compared to the beaten, battered, and bloody mess from before. 

Gladio had no idea how much time had passed before a medic entered the room, quietly explaining that the Prince should get some rest, and that Gladio could return in the morning if he wished. Gladio rose slowly, nodding to the medic, but halted wide-eyed as frail and familiar fingers brushed his arms purposefully, hooking them on Gladio’s own muscular fingers. 

Gladio stilled at Noct's sleepy plea.

"Don't go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks for reading! This was super therapeutic for me (2020 amirite?). I hope everyone is safe and healthy out there!


End file.
